


Pretty As A Painting

by orphan_account



Category: Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Boys In Love, Cute, Drabble, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Gay, M/M, Oneshot, just self-indulgent hamratio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21624793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Hamlet is extra, Horatio is observant, and they're both some disaster children who deserved a happier ending.Is this an ending? No, but it IS happy and this sleep-deprived author did their best to fix the hole in their heart left by William fucking Shakespeare. Hey, what's new?
Relationships: Hamlet/Horatio
Comments: 9
Kudos: 91





	Pretty As A Painting

**Author's Note:**

> // My disaster children, I love them. Anyhow, hope you enjoy this! Obviously it's ex-canon, cuz like... ya know.

To be perfectly honest, he looked like something out of a painting. Botticelli, maybe. Or possibly Da Vinci. He laid across the thrown awkwardly by a royal person's standards, stretching like an odd cat, his back arched prettily over one of the arms, one hand laying on his bare chest, and the other hovering above the floor. His expression was pensive and relaxed, and he looked very deep in thought. He looked fantastically majestic, though, to anyone with half an ounce of common sense and appreciation for pretty things. If Horatio could paint, he would insist that Hamlet didn't move until he'd painted him. However, while he was certainly very smart, he couldn't paint worth a damn. He'd have to settle for a mental painting.

"Ah, Horatio," Hamlet, still draped gorgeously over the throne, craned his neck just slightly to flash his friend a warm smile, showing off his collarbone. "What have you come for?"

"I..." he couldn't remember. He flicked his eyes wildly, looking for something, but gave up. "I don't know. Do you need something?" 

"Ah," Hamlet chuckled at that, and slowly curled into a normal sitting position, prompting a soft huff from Horatio, who hadn't quite committed his figure to memory. He'd gotten most of it. "Not particularly, actually, but I like your company. Have you come to keep me that?" he wondered.

"Well," Horatio was sure he had a task when he'd entered the room, and would hate not to do it, but he figured he'd remember eventually. "I suppose I can do that, prince, yes," Horatio held out his hands, in the way that he did when he needed instruction. 

"Come, then," Hamlet said, standing. He grabbed his shirt from the back of the throne, and started to do up the buttons, but only got to two before Horatio was in front of him, awaiting a further command. Hamlet smiled slightly, and grabbed Horatio's hand, tugging his down to sit on the steps. Horatio made a soft noise of protest.

"Okay, you have me. What would you like?" he asked, a bored but interested expression dancing in Horatio's dark eyes.

"Hmm," Hamlet seemed to think, distractedly brushing a brown curl away from Horatio's forehead, and pulling a pleased expression when his friend's face got pink around the cheeks. "What do you fear, Horatio?" he whispered, in that teasing way that made his hot breath flare across Horatio's already flushed cheeks, turning them a darker shade.

"Death, I think," he admitted bluntly, scanning the gray and blue in his companion's irises. "Well, no," he decided. "Not death. What comes after. We, uh. Well, we saw your father's ghost. What if all of us become like that? Pale, quiet, wisps of the things we were. Apart from those we..." he swallowed around the word, afraid what it could mean. "love, cherish, all that. Oh, dear, am I still talking?" he cut himself off. He always felt bad stealing the silence around Hamlet, like the spotlight should never belong to him. 

"I don't mind," Hamlet assured him, shifting closer. Horatio pretended not to notice. 

"Well, then. Prince, what are you afraid of?" Horatio asked, searching Hamlet's expression. What was that look? Hamlet didn't answer his question. He didn't say anything, for a moment, but then he spoke.

"You have lots of freckles," he mused, slowly lifting a hand as if to cup the corner of Horatio's jaw. The scholar blinked.

"I suppose I do?" he frowned, trying to look down the bridge of his nose, as if he might be able to see them, before just huffing and slumping a bit. Hamlet moved his hand the two inches to connect it with Horatio's jaw, and the latter gasped slightly, leaning into the soft touch as his eyes fluttered shut. God, how starved was he? Hamlet made a quiet sound of approval as he ran his thumb over Horatio's freckle-dusted cheek.

"They suit you," he complimented, eyes scanning the microexpressions on Horatio's face, smirking a bit as Horatio's eyelashes flitted as he struggled to fix his eyes open. He leaned into Hamlet's hand carefully, just craving a little bit more contact. Horatio sighed softly, mouth slightly open, and Hamlet noted that his breath smelt of cherries. Horatio gave up, his eyes closing as he breathed quietly and hotly under the tiny ministrations. 

"What..." are you doing? He can't finish the thought, even the first word is hardly there. Hamlet just smiles. 

"Horatio," Hamlet says his name with sure reverence it fills him with pride that someone could think of him that way. 

"Hamlet?" he hummed, eyes still closed, leaning heavier into Hamlet's hand.

"You're a scholar, you know much, you've seen much," he explained, a soft smile on his face. "Tell me, are you familiar with the works of the painter Raphael?" he asked, still thumbing Horatio's cheek.

"Yes, I..." he chooses not to finish the thought, resting the weight of his head almost completely in Hamlet's hand. He could fall asleep like this. He might.

"You know his vibrancy, then, and the beautiful, sweeping images he makes of his subjects?" Hamlet continue, seemingly unbothered.

"I do," he'd met Raphael once. Lovely fellow, he'd thought, if not a bit quiet. 

"I wonder what would happen if he painted you," Hamlet mused, idly. That's funny, he'd been comparing Hamlet to a painting not a moment ago.

"What..." oh, words. Very far. "y' mean, what... ah, what d'... mm," he gave up. Hamlet could figure it out.

"Well, you're very vibrant." Hamlet stated dumbly, stopping his thumb's movement. Horatio cracked open one eye, trying to muster the will to open the other. "You've got nice, sweeping, dark hair," he explained, tugging his fingers through a cluster of curls. Horatio preened. "Pale skin, dotted with freckles and finished prettily with rosy cheeks," he continued, brushing his hand across those cheeks again, "and a lean, lanky figure that could easily capture the attention of an artistic eye," he decided, running his hands down Horatio's ribs to rest on the man's hips, fingertips curled around the top of his thighs.

"What are you doing?" Horatio whispered, his soft words echoing oddly in the chamber. 

"I'm satisfying the thoughts, Horatio, the needs, the aches, the cravings," Hamlet breathed, leaning in even further. "Don't worry, sweet Horatio," he murmured, his lips not half an inch away from Horatio's, "these ones are really, really good," 

Horatio had had enough with this monologue, and grabbed Hamlet by his collar, yanking him in the last centimeter or so. He kissed sweetly at fist, but gradually became more hungry. He'd wanted this, and he'd wanted it forever. He snaked his arms around Hamlet's back, gripping his ass to pull him into his lap. Hamlet just giggled, but straddled his lap obediently and kept kissing him like there was no tomorrow. There might not be, you never know. 

The boys kissed, and kissed, and kissed, trying to learn and memorize and map the insides of each other's mouths, all whilst feeling the other's body excitedly. The moment never stopped, save for some half-second gasping breaths before diving back into love and warmth and the other and Hamlet had never felt so at ease and meant-to-be and okay in his whole life, and he was drowning but he was finally living and this... this was perfect.

After what must've been a thousand years, but also somehow not enough time, they broke apart, staring into each other's eyes fondly, wonderment the only word for the emotion in the space between them.

"You're pretty as a painting, prince," Horatio sighs, and the prince in question can't help but giggle.

"Really, dear, you have to start calling me Hamlet," he tapped Horatio's nose. The scholar blinked. 'Dear.' He could sure get used to that. 

"Sorry, my sweet Hamlet." Horatio pulled him in for another, sweet, just as everlasting kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> // Ah, how I love them. 
> 
> // On this episode of 'Can Gizmo Write a Oneshot That Doesn't End In a Kiss?' the answer is still no. 
> 
> // Anyhow, let me know what you thought, and hit me with any ideas/things you wanna see in the future!
> 
> // And be sure to check out my account for any other awful pieces of transformative, ooc fics based on the works of people who have far, far more perseverance than myself and have the dedication required to put effort in a completed storyline. Ya know, instead of me, with 40 WIP's on my desk in cluttered notebooks stained with tears and ink. God, I love my life. 
> 
> // Comments and kudos make my day!!
> 
> // Love all of you, darlings, have lovely days and nights! Wherever you are, whatever time it may be, hope the universe loves you.
> 
> // So long and goodnight! - Gizmo


End file.
